Nuit éternelle
by RusticWolfxx
Summary: Éponine. The child of the shaddows. Destined to be alone forever, or is she? Marred by poverty all her life when all she wants is to love and be loved. With her fathers palns becoming more deadly and her hunger becoming more wretched, is there even time to love? what will happen when a young man with dark eyes recaptures her heart.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This is my first ever Les Miserables fanfiction and I thought I would give it ago. This is also quite a new writting style for me so tell me if you like it. I will do a Poem at the start and end of each chapter because I wrote some that I think go really well. Please review or leave a PM all comments welcome!**

* * *

THE MISERY OF THE DARKEST NIGHT

Darkness seeping slowly in,

Filth which penetrates the bone,

Without life or home.

Eternal night,

Where no morning means no relief,

Without hope or belief.

Misery beckons at the door,

Starved of time and hungry with pain,

Without anyone to blame.

* * *

When someone has indeed, spiralled so far down the ladder of unrighteous. That they can no longer see the clear pure sky where they sit on their ledge of filth and mortality

between the lurking evil and the degraded hopeless. It is only then from this pitiless place that you could even think to try and comprehend the thoughts of the young seventeen year old wretch, who had tumbled so far down this cricked, splintered wooden ladder. Pulled down to these depths by her society, by her country, by her progression of life and most mercilessly, by her parents.

Although some may ask when does a parent stop being a parent, no longer a father or mother, instead becoming more like a leech; a monstrous animal that lives only to degrade the life of others. Well I can tell you that the Thénardiers stopped being parents on that fateful day in Montfermeil when the comforting facade of wealth was torn from them like one would pull the leaves from the holly bush, nothing was left but the feeble crumbs of poverty which seeps through to the bone turning even the most innocent flower into a bitter thorn, withered and spoilt and spent.

And so as the Thénardiers treaded the path of poverty and corruption it was impossible that, while living amongst all the horrible of the world, the young girl, Éponine would reach through the eternal night and come away unfettered and victorious. And impossible it was. She was marred by the filth of crime, by the sweat of conviction and by the embodiment of all poverty stands for.

She lent, bent double like the labourers of old. Without the coat, her body had a lean look to it — betraying that she had worked too long, and ate too little or too poorly. Her gloves and tall brown boots were caked with the dying filth of the street, and she was wearing pants like a man, with large brass buttons that were no longer as bright as they had been in there former days. Her long, dark hair was piled up and back, but two shifts of work had picked it apart and heavy strands had scattered, escaping the brittle combs cracked and old, that she'd used to hold it all aloft.

If one was to state what about her that would say resident in the eyes, their immediate answer would have to be the look in her eyes. Like no other. Although her body was broken and her face bittered by hatred, her eyes were alive. Alive like the stars. You could say they were mostly a turtle green with flares and streaks of gold that caught the sun at early noon and lit her bath.

"Like golden gems!" Some would say and others could reply, "As brilliant and terrible as lucifer himself!"

However one thing that was certain to any passer who found themselves lost in the power of her eyes, was that they held a knowledge that was beyond the young waifs years. A terrible yet wonderful knowledge, that had been stamped into her very sole by the events she had witnessed and the deeds she had performed.

As she crouched in the darkness of Saint Michele's lurking streets, it seemed that she herself was feeding from the shadows. She would slither through the darkness, the eternal night speaking pockets of blackness that would welcome her familiar form once again. She was the unseen face of crime. The face that ghosted past just before you found yourself relived of your purse and possessions. The face that was as old as time but still lay hidden in a mist of fear. The face which pursued everything yet achieved nothing. As it was she held the face of poverty. Some may take a book and try to look up the meaning of the word poverty, what they will find is no more than a simple phrase of words; deficiency of necessary or desirable. May I tell you that on no account can poverty be described. To comprehend poverty you need look no further than young Éponine's face, you need look no further than young Éponine's home, you need look no further than young Éponine's life. And indeed when you have looked this far there will be no need for you to look up the meaning of poverty at all.

As she slipped through the streets, nimble and quick on her feet despite the aches and pangs of hunger, she felt as if the very heavens knew of her failures and had no pity on her. Just a few minutes past the very skies had opened up and seen it as their duty to flush there ver contents onto poor Éponine's slight person.

Her destination- no where in particular. She didn't know where to go or what to do so she just let go. Like a lovebird leaving a cage or a swallow in flight. She flew with the night at her side.

Flying as though a bird bunt not tamed and pampered such as a lark, no something worsened, something darker with its secrets and vices, something mysterious. A crow, the epitome of grief, elegance and spite. Everything Éponine embodied and all that any gamine stood for and held proud. However just like any piece of armour there was the smallest chink, maybe not apparent to the nakedness of ones eye, but through the layers of filth and the facade of indifference it was made known that Éponine did indeed have but one 'chink' and that was Monsieur Marius. The dashingly handsome and chivalrous boy who resided next door was the lone consumer of poor, dear Éponine's thoughts, dreams and fantasies. He was everything Éponine had ever craved. A comforter with a tender and loving hand, a lover with a beautiful and cherishing smile and a friend with good will and honesty on his mind. The truth was Éponine was so lonely that she would even greet death its self like a common friend and shake it by the hand. "Mon dieu! Je suis seul!" she would think to herself in a beautiful but terrible self pitying act of desperate need of consolation. It seemed to have been the wretchedness of her life or maybe it was the hunger pains in her stomach or the fear of what tomorrow could bring, or perhaps all three that led her past the point of no return. it was clear simple and cold, she was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Monsieur Marius.

Such was the sight of this pitiful ignorance that turned the wheels in even the coldest and bitterest of hearts. Her feet seemed to find there way, carving a path of mud and filth that was so putrid that the squalor beneath her feet seemed to reek of a certain mort.

As she slipped through the streets she watched the creatures lurking in the shadows, the wretched, the withered, the dying, the dead. all soles who were born to die.

There is nothing as nauseating and woeful as a child born to die. A child whose sole purpose on this earth is to suffer hardships, live in absolute poverty then expire before there time. However hard one may try to relive this imprudent act from the world, by charities or knowledge or some other failed tactic already used by their brothers before them, all they are doing is waisting their breath and time. for it is obviously gods will to strike fear into the heart of mortal men by showing displays of such punishments. A child born to die. There are too many to name but young Éponine already new, even at her slight age that she was also one of these terrible creatures.

Shadows flickered and voices beckoned full of all death stands proud for. Éponine swished silently, like a fox, quick and sly her chemise catching the glowing light of the moon and projecting the rays out like the cracked and disorderly lines of a broken mirror. Seeping down to the parisian slums and landing upon wickedness and ruin, surely a great change from the glorious heavens in which they came from. It was this light and the speed and confidence of her stance that alerted the nearby, preying Montparnasse of her presence.

He rose without hesitation and swiftly leaned into the chase, playing a game with both Éponine and the shadows. Disappearing and reappearing like he, himself was part of the old travelling circus.

She knew he was there but was not afraid. She couldn't feel afraid when all she felt was pain everyday . When one has felt pain for as long as Éponine had then it was easy to forget all else and only focus on the crunching of bones and the spilling of blood.

"'Parnasse," her gravely voice spoke breaking out from the shadows which loomed ever on, "I can feel your breath, following me through the air like a phantom."

He smiled, his beautiful masculine lips drawing, like the string in a bow, up into a coy smile. He raised his rough, calloused hands in mock surrender and drew closer till his mouth lay in line with her filthy ear.

"I bring word from your old Pa," said he with a soft smile as he tugged on her thin shoulder, "Come."

Even then when she knew what ever it was that here dear 'Papa' wanted her for, would not be good she still felt herself be dragged by the bond of family that was drawing more taught with every passing hour.

"Montrer la voie" spoke Éponine.

Darkness welcomes every day to a close and turns away every light with a waft of wretched weight against its sole until it goes crisp and hard with morbid thought. Like the pages in a book which harden and blemish and flicker into dust that will get swept away with the flick of a wrist. Darkness is the old friend which welcomes Éponine back home like an aime. From the doorway she could not make out a thing in the dull light of the flat and had to blink hard against the lack of light which seemed to penetrate her very sole with its greatness. She moved her hand along the wall and had a pause when she came to the table where the rest of the candle stubs resided.

She struck the flint once, twice and then the meagre spark blossomed and lit the flaking candle which needed a new wick. The room suddenly became that much more brighter so she could make out the desperate sleeping forms of her mother, father and sister. She meandered toward the forms and lifted her foot slightly, just next to her fathers ear before slamming it to the old concrete floor with a profound and unmistakable force that seemed to resonate through the frail girl like an unworldly power.

He was awake in an instance. Eyes flying open in sheer gluttony. Hands opening and brandishing a knife. Teeth clenched. Muscles tensed. Awake and alert.

"Papa."

"Eponine." Came the snarled reply that looked at her with such malice only lightening slightly once her name tripped from her tongue. He rose to his full dwarfish height and glared down at the soiled sheet as it fell from his shoulders and drifted to lie against the floor. The old man stood in his ransom under layers with no cap or socks and with his gnarled beard twisted and frayed. He seemed to let his behaviour shift in some kind of dark way so that he was standing with a cruel smirk and twinkling eyes.

"Ponine! Mon Fille!" He cooed wrapping an arm around her emaciated waist, "You are just who I needed, now listen quick and sharp, that old wolf has come prowling up and down my street here one-two many times. The boys and I have all agreed! We ought to be rid of him! Tomorrow. Nine thirty. When he reaches the point, you my dear will lead him our way, coax him if you please into our den, it'll be done good and quick before noon."

He had paused to make sure that slight Éponine had followed but all he saw were vacant looking eyes and a hungry mouth.

"I will be counting on you now girl and you better be there or else!"

With a curt nod Éponine shrank away into the gloom and found her patch of straw and old twigs, somewhere where a dog should lay! She fell upon it in minutes but stayed with her eyes wide and watching Montpanarsse' steady figure slide down the wall and join the rest of her family, in name only, in their unpleasant slumber.

A sleep filled so much of night demons and monsters who would lurk behind the sole ready to claim you when you passed over to the region of sleep. Then they would have their rule in the night which seemed to be everlasting and eternal, for even though the morning would indeed come and bring the lighter of children with it. Even then, the darkness will slowly follow and the morning will be stained and tarnished in all those who perform darkness. Even then, morning will bring no relief and night will bring the fears back.

Even then.

* * *

Even then, when bulbs grow and flowers bloom in the shimmering summer, the winter will come and ice will fall, Even then.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! I am now going to try and post once a week on either a Tuesday (today) or a Thursday! So I also want to that's hanks for all the really nice reviews and that I tried to have less typos but can't promise anything, Enjoy!**

* * *

DECEIVING PALLORS

A night which appears black may be concealing many stars,

A morning which appears grey may be containing many joys,

A man who appears white may be concealing many evils,

A woman who appears yellow may be containing many vices,

So do never look upon the night coldly,

And never look upon the morning boldly,

Never look upon a man without caution,

So never look upon a woman without doubt.

* * *

When dawn crept round in the unsteady way that dawn comes, young Éponine rose from her darkened sleep and stepped into the corridor outside her families door. She passed the door of her neighbour, Monsieur Marius and paused letting her hand fall to the warped wood of the door. She caressed it softly and slowly before leaning her forehead upon the oak, "Je t'aime!" She whispered and inhaled the air, Marius' air, she reminded herself.

His air was sweet and good and filled with promise like a fresh, new apple blossoming in a bright tree. Full of youth and hope, innocent to all evils, beautiful and pure, sweet and delicious but most of all for poor Éponine, out of reach. Just a whisper away, hidden between the security of wealth and the intelligence of his knowledge. And most of all. Completely unstained.

Inside, Éponine could imagine how Monsieur Marius was probably sitting bent over his desk, scribbling away about the social injustice and lack of a welfare system. Secretly Éponine admired him for this even though she would never tell him. To her it ment that Marius really did indeed care for her and was trying to help her. This only added to the reasons as to why she was so besotted with him.

As she continued outside, to the point where she would meet with the cruel police inspector, she dreamt of him. Monsieur Marius, he was walking with her, clutching her hand against his heart, holding it like it was the embodiment of riches. He would stroke her hair or brush her lips with his, holding her near so that she would never drift away from him. Such was their love that it would become the envy of all the regular boulevard trollops.

Although, however beautiful these fantasies were she was always woken up by the task she had to fulfil.

She crouched on an old wooden box by the point and scanned the scene with a lazy eye. The inspector was not yet here. She watched the people and the way they shuffled on, living there formidable lives. Reaching through the mud and filth, a troupe of young rosy cheeked and barefoot children ran in circles tripping and slipping in the dirt. Their clothes were stained and torn but yet their faces held the light of spring and their eyes held the warmth of summer. Éponine turned away bitterly, hating to see how a rose could bloom in poverty when she never had.

She ran her bony fingers through her long tangled tresses looking for something to do.

A boy similar to her own small age was standing across the street in an old pair of worn boots which glistened with the dying mud of the street. She let her gaze travel upwards gazing with soft eyes at his tanned trousers complete with small but dubious holes that were crinkled slightly at the sides. Moving her eyes up once more she passed his stained white shirt which had turned a sickening yellow with age, like an old bone left out for the dogs, she continued upward in silent dismissal until her shining eyes caught the curve of his jaw. Here the look of dismissal vanished and was taken over by one of approval. His face was like the summertime, alive and blossoming with serenity. She could get an idea of his features, but none of it stuck in her mind beyond an impression of astonishing handsomeness . His long hair wafted around him like black smoke, its tendrils curling and moving of their own volition. Éponine could not recall seeing him before. The happiness still lurked in his face, but it was a quieter summer now, not the rabid, passionate and unwavering summer of before. Something else akin to spring stirred underneath the gleam of his visage.

Éponine could not come up with a reason as to why she was so taken by this fetching man even if you were to offer her her worth in gold, which was probably no a handsome amount.

As she sat upon her small rickety perch gazing intently at the young man whose name she simply had to know, she missed inspector Javert striding down the street with a sullen ferociousness about him.

Éponine slowly raised, and almost in a trance without the faintest of knowledge about what she was planning to do, strode across the street and took her new position, sitting on the path cross legged almost directly at the feet of the handsome man.

From this new position Èponine could hear the short conversation that was going on between the handsome boy and a younger girl. The girl seemed to be about ten and had the same curled locks and bright expression which showed mirth and gaiety. She twirled around holding the boys hand chanting a ditty that Èponine herself remembered from her childhood.

Alouette gentille Alouette,

Alouette je te plumerai,

Je te plumerai la tête,

Et la tête, Et la tête,

Alouette je te plumerai.

Such was this picture of happiness that Èponine welcomed as a foreign memory which had been chased from her mind by a harsh hand. The little child was gazing at the boy with such affection and admiration akin only to that of which a child shows a father. Though it was obvious even to the most ignorant that they were both siblings. Èponine briefly entertained the thought that she herself, might have once behaved with such love towards her brothers and sister but knew that it was never so.

Even as a child, when poor Èponine had all her hearts desires, she had not behaved any kinder towards her siblings than she did now. Her mind wandered towards the thoughts of her two small brothers whom her mother had given away. Où étaient-ils? Ils étaient morts? Ont-ils manger? Sometimes Èponine entertained the idea of hunting them down, not stopping until all of Paris had been searched. Then she would scoff and return to her normal cold hearted thoughts. When someone so wretched, with truly so little sole left tries, to give a piece, of that expiring conscious, to another, then one discovers how truly hard it is to be selfless.

Letting her mind and eye return to the garçon and fille she saw that they were both gazing at her with an expression which made her scramble to her feet and flee. She didn't stop until her eyes went blank with pain and her breathe came in short broken gasps, interrupted by the hate which seemed to consume her. She flung herself against the soiled wall of a taverne. She turned so her cheek was pressed flush against the cool granite and her hands gripped the wall so hard that blood was pushed out in thin trickles through the already apparent cuts in her hands. Her inner sole screamed. That look, worse than hate, worse than disgust, worse than prejudice. It was pity.

Pity is what can separate a gamin from a bourgeois. It is in the very soil of all society. To be pitied is to be lower than the one who pities you. To be pitied is to be mocked. To be pitied is to be degraded. One does not pity a person for their thoughts or feelings, one pities a person for their origins, their position in society. It is an act of discrimination and to Èponine, one of the most horrid gestures one could show to her. A quoi je pensais? Monsieur Marius would never pity Èponine. She was sure of that. As sure as she was of her own name, which at that time appeared to be Jondredette.

Letting herself slip down the wall, almost as if she was slipping into the embodiment of darkness, itself.

For every single ounce of light within a heart, there is a pound of darkness waiting to swallow consume all purity and righteousness. It is up to the being whether or not they allow light to prevail over its contrasting enemy. Many find that it is hard to forsake the darkness within their own hearts; this is what, in the end, forces them to give in and submit to the Nuit Éternelle.

When a being succumbs to the darkness in their hearts, they transform into Heartless, the eaters of hearts; the destroyers of worlds. Men like Thènardier. What also stems from this corruption is a Nobody, the shell of a person after their heart has been eaten away. An empty body rotting away from the inside with bitterness and resentment. Nobodies are the mere body and ruined soul of a person. They have no hearts, and they are Nothing- existing in a plane between light and dark. This nothing, this plane is what small Èponine was constantly battling to stay out of. To pull through and thrive and with this one act of degradation Èponine felt the darkness become that much larger. Where Èponine was seeking praise and love she only found hate and hurt and with this constant but vicious cycle she had been worn down into believing that her life's course had been set and she could do not a thing to disrupt this crumbling path.

"Pourquoi ne pas jamais m'aimer?" She whispered to that hard cold wall which seemed to climb ever on into the equally dull and lifeless sky creating a picture of depression. A man exited the taverne, he was tall and stocky with an authoritative stance and a direct eye. Seeing this unwavering figure seemed to ignite a flame in poor Èponine's painful memories. "Mon Dieu! The inspector! Zut, Zut, Zut!" She swore and took off on weak legs back down the allies to her former post.

With a frantic frenzy she stretched onto the toes of her worn boots and peered around the crowds of shuffling persons hurriedly. She was looking for the man that was more wolf than man. The inspector who was forged in ice with a heart of steal and eyes of a hawk, always always searching for prey. The inspector who had landed her into the locaux de la police at least a dozen times. The inspector who she at this present moment was meant to be luring into the Patron Minette's den. Instead of wailing or shrieking, Èponine resigned herself to her fate which would aspire to show death as the lesser of the two evils. She slowly began to sway down the street almost making a show of it to herself. Oh! If only someone would take me from this living hell! From this deploring listlessness!

She could almost see it now, Monsieur Marius would arrive in all his undeniable glory and slowly look into Èponine's eyes, before lowering his weight onto one knee and gently pulling out a silver ring which would catch the glimmer of the suns rays. Then with a tenderness which would seem to come from another world, he would slide it onto her thin finger third from the right and they would become one. It was not Monsieur Marius' beautiful shadow that was cast upon her, but the dark and terribly formidable shadow of the inspector. Seeing this as an opportunity to appease her father Èponine suddenly gave a cry of insinuated fear and let herself fall to her knees at the feet of Javert. "Monsieur le Inspector!" She cajoled, "Oh goodness! Thank god your here! Come quick! It's my sœur!" To terrified to see if he had caught the bait Èponine immediately took off twirling through the street, on the familiar path that would indefinitely lead to the wicked snatch of earth that was the Patron Minette's lair. Her worn boots slapping against the dirt pace after pace. She would turn her head every so often to be sure of the inspectors pursuit and when that appeared clear, she would force her legs to move faster and her heart to beat quicker. The were coming closer by the second, winding a path into the heart of the slums. A place so terrible, bathed in evil and cooked in wicked a place commonly known to thieves, beggars, whores and murderers. The lair had been built, more like summoned, just as one would summon a demonic spirit from a grave. It was fitted in between two equally dismal buildings inhabited by equally foul people, made of a thick black tar mixed with mortar to keep the wind from pulling the structure to the ground. It had many exits but only one entrance which was obscured from the view by a rotting piece of cloth tied haphazardly round the wooden frame where a door should rest.

Èponine quickly turned to Javert, and without missing a beat of her heart quickly spoke that, "My sœur, she is trapped inside, the rafters have fallen crushed her two legs!" seeming to take the bait Javert roughly shoved Èponine back, "Wait here wrench."

Èponine lay back against the wall and breathed a sigh of sweet, sweet relief. Perhaps today she wouldn't be beaten, not even scolded! A sharp grunt of pain broke through her thoughts and the sounds of scuffling feet and the swearing of men travelled towards her ears alerting Èponine that the fight had begun. When the noise died down she decided to slip in holding the curtain aside and causing a stream of light to flow into the room. The men blinked as their eyes adjusted, and seeing that it was only small Èponine they turned their attention back to the task which presented itself unfinished. Èponine was able to see what was happening and it appeared to be, that Javert was lying face down on the cold, hard floor as the men pummelled him with their fists and cudgels.

For a girl of only fifteen, violence of this degree would have been thought horrific but for Èponine it was her way of life. Thrashing. Crippling blows. Bones crunching. Thudding gasps of liquid pain. Pain that bled through the actions of the five monsters of men. Babet was the first to grow bored and with a spit in the direction of Javert, he rose and left only sending Èponine a fleeting glance. The rest followed soon. Montpanarsse showing Èponine his hideous teeth as lips pulled back into a wicked gesture. The men lumbered out, Thènardier adding as an afterthought, "Well done my dear."

Circling the shadow of a degraded man Èponine stooped low and pressed her thin fingers over the previously voluptuous mouth and waited. A breathe. Crouching low like an animal scavenging for food she shifted her weight and drew her hand down to the opening over her worn boots. Inside it Èponine could indeed feel a blade. Her hand slowly gripped the splintered wooden handle and she quietly drew it out. She held it in one loose palm, watching as it glistened and threw out beads of light against the grubby walls. Beautiful shining, unnerving light which ghosted across the inspectors face making him look like a sleeping child, battered and bruised. This caused Éponine tp peer close, brush his grey locks from his face and staring intently at his presence. He scared Éponine. Such was the greatness of his integrity, it would cause mountains to move and seas to disperse. He had a commanding air of grace about him which would send shivers galloping down your spine and shaking your heart itself. Éponine used the tip of her blade to trace down the contours of his features. Moving the sleek silver dagger over his nose and lips, which were permanently turned into a sullen expression which showed a life of great hardships. Éponine's face ghosted with a smile. She held the blade against an awful looking bruise, that had turned black from pain and was marred at the edges, she kept the blade poised there and applied just enough pressure. The blade sunk through his skin as if it was softer than mud. A tear drop of blood rolled out and slipped in a jagged path downwards, moving out of Éponine's line of sight.

The power. A deep, thrilling unexplainable power. The power to end a life. Oh so easily, Éponine could draw the shining blade back and sink it into the soft of Javert's throat, ending a life. Murdering, killing, exterminating, ending a life. A gasp of blood was sent coursing through her veins at the thought. Éponine barely had control over any single aspect of her life, except death. Being too cowardly to bring about her own demise, she found herself finding the thrill of power in this act, the act of killing a helpless man. A terrible rival, a wolf like stalker, a fighter, an appeaser but underneath it all, just another terribly degraded man. Pulled down by her father, not too unlike Éponine herself. And yet, how simple it should be.

The reason Éponine was hesitating, deciding and calculating was because she was afraid. Afraid of this beautifully wicked and extremely addictive feeling, power.

Everyone must leave something behind when they dies. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Or even a strong legacy. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die, and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. Not in person but in the movements you once played and in the sound of your voice. It doesn't matter what you do so, as long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away. The finger prints shall always stay. Sheltered by the memory that you kept.

Éponine was scared. Had Javert left something behind? A piece of his sole? Perhaps a child or a wife? Maybe a book or a legacy? For sure she couldn't kill a man before he had touched something? Bringing the blade back to the sun rays she moved it to and fro, with a childish gaiety, she caught a glimpse of movement and keeping very still peered closer. There trapped in the blades reflection crouched at least ten men, the national guards. The were bent over there legs, muskets pressed into cheeks and eyes front. Éponine let out a gasp of fright and suddenly the room erupted in chaos. Éponine drove forwards trying desperately to reach the hatch in the floor which would lead to an immediate passage into the sewers, instead she was met with a boot to the face. Pain broke out across her visage like an angry storm, so much so, that it was blinding her vision and causing her to temporarily loss of sight.

They had her, arms held tight feet kicked out from under her, blade prised from her fingertips and they weren't gentle, for sure. She was dirt to them, nothing. Just a scrap of dirt committing a crime. She hated it, the faces that looked through her and seemed to find nothing! Nothing! it was as if she existed simply for nothing, no life, no point. Instead of love she would be hated, not even thoroughly hated, just a light loathing. She felt like a leaf, tossed from one to another, nothing really interested in her at all.

Now, with fingers holding her so tightly that they would dent the very bones of her emaciated arms, she wanted to shriek at the indignity of everything.

She saw as they checked their dear, old inspector for a breathe of life and noticed as the air relaxed when Javert was pronounced to be staying in the world of the living and mortal soles. The men glared at her with mirth and seemed to be reviewing the situation and taking their options into consideration. With a curt nod and a murmuring agreement of, "Take her away!" and, "Lock her up!" the men began to drag the waif from the dismal building into the streets where a babble of people had gathered in curiosity. One thing that Éponine knew well was that prison meant death. In her fragile condition of hunger and sickness she wouldn't live over a week. This left poor Éponine with one choice, flee. In the end when the final decision was made, Éponine had not much of a choice in the matter but if she could go back and change her path, she wouldn't. For the path that she had chosen was one that would lead her to freedom, not just that of the body but also of her spirit. Even then she would never look back with a mournful eye.

Even Then.

* * *

**Even then, when the dead do rot and the starving do sleep, Even then the cold will warm and the rain will dry. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Another week and another update! Right on time too. Also thank you for all the reviews and input, I really appreciate them. Just a quicknote to R.S. Javert will Not be in this chapter so please donnot get mad! He willme a pretty main character in the next chapter though! Please read and review...**

* * *

ALWAYS

Always hope even in the darkest night when no one dreams and the stillness speaks only for its self,

Always live even in the darkest depths when no one speaks and the dreams die like the old and alone,

Always fight even in the darkest hours when no one tries and the flame never burns like it use to.

* * *

She had waited, anticipating a momentary lapse in attention, it had come. She fled, sweeping past the men and all their shouting ways, out into the street and from there all she did was run. The people called after her as she legged down the streets, with her hair completely out of it once neat set up. It flew behind her like a vast sea of dark brown filth. She used her palms and elbows to move people from her way as she sped through the gutter, the gendarme close at her boots heals. The scene in front of her came and went in a rushing format, as if she were sitting in one of the carriages of the fine beasts called trains. The buildings loomed high before sweeping behind her and turning into dust. She could barely make out a thing as she gave in to the primal urge to flee. Then, as if the hand was conjured from the air by some mysterious perpetrator, it appeared out of nothing. It attached itself to the lapels of her worn tan coat, fingers curling round and locking the material in between the two sides of a hand in a steal grip. Èponine tried to move away from the obstacle which presented its self as a hand but failed. Before she knew what had happened to her, she was crushed against the hard chest of a strong male while she watched the gendarme run past.

When Èponine turned to see who her silent saviour was, she could hardly believe what she saw. It was as if the wind was completely knocked from her lungs, as if she had fallen a great height and landed upon her chest. She was breathtakingly shocked to see the handsome stranger from earlier, who now stood tall and proud.

"What was that done for?" she asked astounded that someone would even think to help her. "You couldn't really have fought them off by yourself, I suppose." He said in tone that suggested the end of the conversation but Éponine was far from done. He had turned slightly, so that his shoulder was facing Éponine and his face was turned to her shoulder, this carefully planned movement had set a physical barrier between the pair and made it hard for them to converse but Éponine persisted. "Monsieur, pray tell me yer names?" she asked desperately wanting to know. "Names?" he replied, turning slightly to her. She blushed and repeated in a louder voice, "Yer names! Like yer first name and yer family name." they shared a brief look and he moved his hand so it lay behind his neck, then answered. "My name is Henri, family name, Dubois." He smiled and turned to face her fully stretching his hands out so that he could hold Èponine by her frail shoulders and smile into her face. At this time Henri thought that Èponine was wrongly accused for whatever crime she had been committing and was thankful he had helped her get away from the gendarme who had been perusing her. He tightened his grip on her shoulders slightly, to give her a friendly gesture then asked, "What should I call you, Mademoiselle?"

Èponine felt a shudder race down her spine and shoot through her bones. To be called Mademoiselle was not to be pitied, it was to be known. She felt her face erupt in a truly genuine smile, the first in months. Her lips drew back and her eyes shawn and her shoulders raised, transforming her into a person who was alive and bright. She told him, almost as if with pride, "My name is Èponine Jondredette." The pride had diminished ever so slightly when she had spoken her family name as she remembered the scars which came with it. Scars that were too deep to ever be healed, and too large to ever go unnoticed. "You were watching my sœur and I earlier But you ran." Henri was silently asking her why but Éponine wasn't ready to admit som things, so instead she replied. "She looked so happy, with ye, what is her name?" Henri picked up this subtle shift in tere conversation but didn't remark, instead he answered her question. "She is called Estelle and I love her very much." Éponine gazed wistfully at him when he uttered the words 'love her very much' all Éponine ever wanted was that phrase to be said to her. She was starved of love and affection, so many years without the slightest drop had lead her near insane. "Thats for her mama to do, where is she?" asked Éponine and instantly regretted it. Henri's face turned ashen. "Our mama died, last year at Christmas. It was horrible and now we are closer than ever, me and Estelle." He explained through clenched teeth. Éponine's face sobered and she whispered out, "I'm sorry for what happened Henri."

Henri was, in fact the first to leave with a slight tip of his head and a mock bow, which made Èponine laugh slowly. When he was gone, Èponine felt herself staring into the space which had once held his person. She spread her fingers out into said place and wished she could summon him with her very mind. He was good and sweet and kind, not to mention tall, dark and handsome in a way that so nicely complimented each of his traits and he had held her shoulders. This was something that Monsieur Marius had never done. It made her heart fill with the hope of love, for surely that is what Henri intended. She was shrouded in the blissful serenity of hope. A delicate and beautiful feeling which had Éponine smiling in glee. Henri was different to Marius but at this early stage, Èponine could not yet contemplate why.

* * *

Throughout the next few weeks Èponine stumbled as if in a daze. With every thought, she would spend reliving her encounters with Monsieur Henri Dubois. When she was cold he would blow on her fingers to warm them, when she was scared he would sing softly to her and chase her fears from existence, when she was angry he would lay a genteel hand upon her back and coax her into serenity. Although she had not seen him since, he had followed her in spirit. She was addicted to him, his smile and the way he spoke to her, the way he had even saved her! It was all deleriously romantic and had caused her to barley think of Monsieur Marius.

It was beginning to turn from autumn to winter, the november days growing colder and darker and the people on the streets of saint Michelle were now seen in fewer numbers with coat or scarf when lucky. Èponine herself now always wore her cap, pulled tightly around her ears as a permanent barricade to the winds. Not owning a scarf, she turned out the lapels of her own tanned overall, and tried to shelter her neck and jaw in this manner. Somedays, it would be so frightfully cold that Éponine's hands would grow stiff and sore and she wouldn't be able to move them at all. Only last week Éponine had spotted the touchings of frost, ghosting around the streets of Paris.

Ever since the attack of inspector Javert, the Patron Minette and the Jondredette family had been much more scarce upon the streets. Éponine, knowing the dangers would still venture out as often as once a day, in the hope of seeing Henri again. After the attack, her father had been in a foul mood, worse than usual, when he had found out that the police inspector was indeed still standing. This unsuccessful assassination attempt had then been blamed on Èponine, as well as the sickness which now resided in Azelma.

At present, Èponine was bent double over Azelma's sleeping form which was wracked with coughs and shivers. She was crouched with a clothe in hand, which she held lightly, dabbing it on Azelma's forehead. Her mother was out and her father was sitting cross legged against the wall, tightly grasping a shiny green bottle in his palm, which when the time was correct, he would take a mouthful from. She turned her attention back on her sister whose pale face looked deathly sick. Èponine forced herself not to cry as she raised to her feet and turned for the door. A doctor would surely be able to save poor Azelma thought Èponine. As she placed her hand against the rotting handle of the door, she felt a bony hand that was hard and cold, wrap itself around her ankle.

She turned to see the twisted frown of her fathers face, "Get off pa!" She shouted trying to remove her emaciated ankle from his tight grasp. "Ponine, where are ya going to?" He slurred out, in his inebriated state which caused Èponine to retract in disgust when she smelt his breath. "I am off to the places I go and it won't be any of her business, I say!" He immediately spat out, "It's all my business! I am the man of this house my dear, don't ye dare think to out do me! Now tell me where it is yer off to, for I have a job for ye." She quickly paled at the word job, as she remembered back to the last one, where she had nearly been caught and would have surly hung. "I am going for a doctor, Azelma shall be dead in a day if I don't!" Thènardier laughed, "Where do ye suppose ye will find the money for a doctor! Have ye no whit, is my own child this simple? A doctor! If I had the money for a doctor do you think we would be living in this saleté! Ye will do nothing of the sort! Ye will bring this letter, to said address and ye will not hesitate!" With a mighty shove, he released her leg and threw a letter in the general direction of her person.

She stooped low to lift the paper, taking a glance at the address and leaving the room quickly. Éponine tried to hold back the tears which collected against her lids, If Azelma died, then Éponine would be left alone with only the cruelty of her father and the bitterness of her mother. She didnt know what to do, at only seventeen, Éponine already carried a great load atop her frail shoulders and if she had to also bare the weight of her sister death she would perish too.

Instead of finding a good respectable doctor, Éponine found herself in the court of miracles, a place that was known to have gypsies hiding in every twist of the road. Being unable to read, Éponine had already passed by a vast number of signs offering a pharmaceutical aid and it was only when she heard an old woman, twisted and withered who was lent against the ivy covered wall. The woman could be heard calling, "Any illness cured, any fever stilled, any cold warmed-" Éponine nearly ran to her with such eagerness that the tired woman nearly died of shock. She turned her tanned and freckled face towards Éponine and stopped mid sentence. "Dame, please I need yer help, my sœur is ill, will ye come?" The woman looked down into Éponine's face before nodding and not uttering a word. "Oh mon dieu! I thought she were done for! Like a fox in hunting season! Now she will be good, now she shall be alright. Don't ye worry about money because my pa is a good and decent old coot, he'll see you through."

By the time that Éponine had trailed the woman all the way back to saint Michelle, nearly three hours had passed from when she had set out. The passing of time was clearly evident in Azelma, who was now shaking from the fever and was practically delirious with the cold. The woman paused at the door, pressing her eyes shut and drawing in a breath, she could tell that the child lay in her grave. With a professional like accuracy she pushed Éponine towards where the bucket lay empty and gestured wildly, for Éponine to go and fetch some water. Éponine did so,bending low and clutching the handle tightly, she quickly picked up haste and went for he door, having to step over her fathers drunken person that lay asleep by on the floor. She lifted her head and sped down the hallway to the stairs, ignoring the thumps and furious shouts from her neighbours. Her boots hit the stairs loudly, waking the spirits and clearing a path through the dust and the dirt. Once in the street, she made a harsh turn right and ran, as if she were being chased by lightning, to where the old well sat, with crumbling rock and a rusted iron hook. She began to hurriedly tie the knot that would hold her bucket firmly to the rope but her hands were shaking far to much for it to stay still. Then a voice spoke up from the madness and said, "What with the rush, I don't see fire?" Although the question was light and playful the response was not. When Éponine turned and saw it was Henri Dubois, who she was so fascinated by, she had nearly fallen to his feet but her inner self control had forced her to compose herself. "Damn you Monsieur! My sister, she is on her death bed, I must fetch her the water!" Without any consultation beforehand, Henri had swiftly taken the bucket and rope, then in practised movements he had tied it and cast it off. He looked at her with a sort of steely determination and then concentrated on using the muscles in his arms to haul the bucket up, out of the well and into his hands. "Lead the way," he shouted, and like two wild cats they tore through the streets, filled with the desperation to save a life. Éponine did not even have time to concern herself with thoughts of the boy who strode beside her. She was not ignorant to the apparent risks of loosing the only sister that she ever had.

"Thank you." She panted as they climbed the steps. "I am grateful." she breathed as the reached the hall. "I am in your debt." she laboured as she opened the door. The scene which greater them was death. Death crouched by the old mat on which Azelma's weak form once lay, it had taken her by the hand and looked into her eyes, where the dark depths of death had appeared. Without harshness or tenderness it had cast her sole from the living world and drained her body of all life. Death was smiling at Azelma, the child who would never see womanhood. The little girl who would never see anything again.

A bucket fell to the floor, a shriek was heard and Éponine threw herself against her sister. Clutching her with all her might in the hope that death wold reconsider, no such miracle happened. Azelma, the child which once had rosy cheeks, now lay like a listless being deprived of energy, hungering for time and diminished of life. She would never feel pain again.

Henri came behind Éponine, who was near inconsolable with grief and held her. He held her in a way that Éponine had never been held before, full of promise and hope, as if he cared for her, as if it was also him who felt the pain of the departure which Azelma had taken. The old gypsy woman left with a bow of her head and no demand for money, there had been nothing she could do. The child had died in spirit, many days before she had arrived, leaving her only a carcass. An empty body full of pain and suffering which was seeking the sweet relief that death would bring.

Henri watched her leave, turning back to the girl who lay in his arms, chocking on her sobs, drowning in her misery. It sickened him, how a person could live like this. The room where he stood was so disease ridden and poverty stricken that he feared catching an illness from his brief time inside. He pulled her head onto his shoulder and rubbed her back, his eyes moved across to the skeletal girl who had just died. The dead child reminded him of his own sœur and that only made him feel more protective. he had an urge to shelter this girl, the one who remained alive and crying in his arms. He wanted to sow her that there was more than just this, than just death and he would start now.

"Éponine," he spoke softly, his voice lined with tenderness. "Éponine, where are your father and mother, is there anyone to help?" he asked this quietly not wanting to disturb the silence which had shrouded the room now that Éponine's cries had turned to small whimpers. She turned to him her face now streaked with tears as well as dirt, she looked exhausted, broken, used. "I don't know where no one is. Their all gone!" her voice rose up into a shrill cry as she spoke the last line, she turned to watch her sisters motionless body. He just held her tighter and whispered to her. "When I saw you, that day, many moons ago. You were running, so quick. You were also alive and bright. You deserved to be helped, so I helped you. I know your brave and now I know you need help, so let me help you." she turned her head back to him, shocked. "M'aider?" she asked breathless. He smiled lightly, "Oui, vous aider. Tell me about her, show me who your sœur was."

Éponine sat up against the bed and held Azelma's hand. Who had Azelma been? Other than the scared, barefoot gamine that she had become. Who was she inside? It was distant but Éponine could still remember. "She loved mama more than pa, she would always be found in the kitchen of the inn right beside the fire, sucking in the heat. Preferred sewing and knitting to running. Always wore her favourite ribbons, yellow ones, really silly with lace and all. She liked to watch the stars, every damn night she would climb to the attic and peer out the windows, I don't really know why, she just did. She loved singing too, ye would have loved to hear her, I remember her being really good. She stopped all that when we came to Paris." Henri had listened intently, he would not associate a person with their last moments, he would only think of them when they were happy. "Then Éponine, we shall remember her every time the stars shine and forget la terminasion. I will help you remember."

Éponine smiled and dried her eyes of the tears they had once shed. She would remember Azelma every night in which the stars shone. "I'll remember her, as she was, not as she is. I'll promise." Éponine said. Henri's smile was the only reply she got.

That hour Azelma had been sent off. Henri had lifted her frail body from where it had lain and then Éponine had wrapped her in the blanket she used to sleep on. They had walked side by side both of them sharing the unsubstantial weight of Azelma, when they reached the first bridge which stood atop the river Seine they stopped. "We should cast her off here, shouldn't we?" asked Henri. Éponine nodded, "Should we say words? I ain't never been to any funeral before?" They both stood, thinking for a while before Henri began. "For all those who have fallen in the true faith of Thy Holy Name, that they may enter into the rest which Thou hast prepared for those who believe in Thee." Éponine turned to him, "I didn't know ye were religious but me and Azelma, we were good Christians, like our fathers and mothers before us." He gave a small smile and counted.

"Una, dos, très!" and with that, they both let go. Éponine clung tightly to the bridge as she followed, with her eyes, as Azelma's body dropped like a stone, into the rushing, raging water. It impacted, bottomed out, then returned to the surface as if it were gasping for the last drops of air, or searching for the last rays of light. Éponine gave out a shrill cry, as she watched this horrific display. The body shook, trembling with the force of the current and slowly slipped away. Funerals are not really for the dead. They are for those left behind. The dead are long gone by the time a funeral is held. Who would wait when the doors of Heaven are open? Only the living would be foolish enough to still hang around on earth. So, with this knew outlook on what had just taken place, Éponine was able to steady her breathing, calm her muscles and control her emotions. Azelma was in a new place, certainly better than the first, Éponine thought, for it would be hard to find worse places. Azelma had left before Éponine, this was for sure and although that was not what should have been. It had happened and she was gone.

So, as one light leaves a life another takes its place and Henri Dubois was adamant that he would not leave Éponine, not like those who had already abandoned her. He would stay with her, help her, protect her. And that was his promise. Even when life looses its brightness, there will always be someone, holding their flaming torch high, fighting the shadowing darkness and guiding you home. Even Then.

* * *

Even then, when you have been through the darkness and back, the shadows do not seem so large, Even then.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! So far so good! I hope you all still lik the sory and haven't given up on me yet! In this chapter I really tried to show the progression of H & É relationship, hopefully this will help to show that things aren't going too fast. Also at the end there is a little in Javert's POV. so please tell me what you think of it. Please review and thanks xxxx**

* * *

SUNRISE SUNSET

She came by moon fall to watch the street,

In the stillness of dusk on desperate feet.

She came by the twilight to dream he was there,

She left by the new moon full of despair.

She went hungry by the suns last light,

She stayed hungry in the dull of the night.

She died by the sunrise safe in his arms,

Where neither daylight or moonlight could cause her harm.

* * *

The weeks withered by and the snow eventually came, like a fleecy fall. It twinkled down in white flurries, so bright that even the moons rays scattered upon it and reflected back up into the skies they had come from. Lighting the night. Cold had also seeped down with the snow, freezing the river and cooling the veins of all who braved the outdoors. It hardened the crops in the fields, causing another great food shortage. It summoned the plague, the flew and many other fevers. It killed and it harmed and it scared all who lived in it. Éponine had hardly noticed the it however, she was now seemingly shrouded in a constant warmth. The warmth of Henri Dubois. He was like her saviour, after that horrible and wretched day, the eleventh of November, The day Azelma fell asleep forever. Since then, Henri had come everyday. He usually would bring Éponine bread or perhaps a bottle of milk and check she was eating properly. He behaved in a gruff order and was thoroughly composed, when all Éponine had wanted was him to take her into his arms like he had when her Azelma had died.

He would usually stay with her for at least half the day, taking a walk with her through the city or sitting with her as she talked nonstop to him about all the things there was in life. From an onlookers point of view, one would say he was indifferent towards her, when it was obvious that she was totally besotted with him. Smitten by cupids arrows.

She would sometimes, as they were talking, angle her face towards his and try to peer strait into his eyes, which she had discovered to be a deep charcoal. This would only cause her to become flustered, not being able to properly articulate words, which would lead to her own embarrassment. Sometimes, she would also try to brush her hand with his, remembering the way it had felt when he had gripped her shoulder on the first day they had met. She had also told him that no one had ever been as nice to her as he had, which had made him smile, the first time in days. The only negative was the two elder thènardiers. They had reacted with extreme anger when they had found out Azelma had perished. At first they had not believed Éponine, then when the had finally accepted that she really had died, they were furious. They had blamed Éponine entirely, even though her father had forbid her from going to get the doctor and this had made poor Éponine distressed. She had arrived at the place by the square, where she would always meet Henri and had, proceeded to tell him everything. Instead of the affection she had longed for, Henri had only given her a slight caress of the cheek and had told her that time would heal all wounds.

Presently Éponine was hauling a bucket full of snow upstairs to her miserable home. The well had frozen up the previous week and their only water source had been the putrid snow, turned almost black with filth in most places, which made it even harder to find. Éponine had been out for almost an hour before having seen a small scattering of white, sheltered from the dirt by a slight ledge. Now, after collecting it, Éponine's hands were raw and bloodied, cracked from the cold and scratched by the handle of her bucket. Even this did not detour her, she quickly moved the bucket so it was on top of the burning embers of the once crackling fire. Then she quickly stripped out of her torn chemise and mens pants, grabbing a piece of old clothe that would work to rid the filth from her small frame. She plunged the clothe into the bucket of Luke warm water and scrubbed vigorously at her skin, marvelling at the colour that that the melted snow had changed to after washing herself. Éponine then used the water to wash her clothes before she hung them over the embers to dry. Éponine wrapped herself in a sheet and sat, shivering as she waited for the clothes to dry. She hadn't seen Henri yet today and was anxiously awaiting his company. Éponine always tried to make an effort to look presentable for Henri, she felt like she owed it to him.

"Won't he ever be so happy to see me!" she mused aloud. Anticipation bubbled up inside of her. Her emotions were racing and her imaginations were spilling over with fantasies of how her day would go. Her dreams made her forget the world, she would block all the misery out that went on around her, escaping into the thoughts she cherished, the thoughts of how she would eventually find love with Henri.

She poked the corner of her chemise, testing it for dampness and when none seemed apparent, she straightened herself out then slipped it over her head. It smelt slightly better and was now rid of any dirt, coated in only old and fading stains which were scattered across the fabric as if they were a pattern. The breeches were also dry so she quickly pulled them on, in a hurry to get to Henri. She stumbled round the room dressing herself, feeling feminine was a rare thing but now, as Éponine flustered about her looks, she was feeling like a woman. Once dressed in her horrid attire she paused, thinking about her hair which lay in waves from her crown to the tops of her thighs. She lifted her cap atop her head and coaxed out her wispy curls to frame her face. She then pulled the back section into a severe chignon which suited her tanned face and helped to endorse her sharp features. Utterly pleased with her hair she pulled on her coat and shoes then made her way to the meeting place.

As she stood in the frigid December air waiting for Monsieur Henri, she watched the small flakes drifting down to earth and thought about their meaning, for everything must have a meaning. Was it to show that it truly was winter? was it to show how cold the world had gotten? Or was it something more? Was the snow maybe gods reminder of how we became spoilt with sin? The snow starts out just like us, as it rains from heaven, pure and innocent. Then, as the days continue onward it becomes dirtied, covered in the filth of the streets, no longer it's original clean self. Then, finally it will melt and return to the ground as water just like how we die and our bodies return to the earth as dust. As Éponine pondered her sudden realisation, she heard a clamour from further down the street. Turning, she saw Javert, the inspector, now in perfect health, striding down the street flanked by another six gendarme. Éponine would have taken a step backwards, concealing herself in shadow, then slipping away. If it hadn't been for Henri who appeared from the same direction as the police and began to stride towards her.

It happened, to quick, almost to quick for words, Éponine ran, Henri ran, Javert ran. Javert had impacted with the frail girl before she had even turned fully around, Henri had stopped, suddenly no longer running or even walking. Holding his breathe just like the whole of Paris. Waiting.

Javert had shoved his large, strong arm at Éponine's throat, preventing her from moving or even breathing. At once Éponine was gripped by fear and yet she still glared into the old mans hollow eyes with courage. He applied pressure on her thin neck and snarled, "You are under arrest, in the name of the law for the list of treasonous and treacherous crimes which you have committed." and then in a quieter but still strained voice he added, "You have been mistaken, for no one shall ever hold a knife against the skin of my throat. For I am the law and the law is not marked."

Javert held Èponine until her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell asleep from the lack of air. All Henri could do was stand by the cobblestones that marked the footpath and gaze guiltily at the scene before him. It angered him that a man who was of noble place would harm a girl so terribly. The only thing that seemed to keep him in his place was he threat of jail and all it stands for. Javert hauled Èponine's listless body away and the gendarme followed him as sheep would follow a Shepard.

When Èponine woke, she felt the cold seep into her bones. She felt the fear consume her mind and she felt all happiness wither from existence. She was lain in a cell filled with the worst of society. Corrupted by the crimes in which they had committed and left to rot in the squalor of their own helplessness. Éponine could feel herself shaking, the full affects of winter had finally taken their toll on her fragile body. Tremors wreaked through her as quickly as a horse would gallop across the plains and she let out a breathy exhale. Henri would come for her, he had to, Éponine knew that life would not be continuing for much longer unless she was removed from her current lodgings.

Éponine felt a handle, cold and frail, touch the bareness of her ankle, she turned sharply and saw an old withered woman. The woman's eyes were sunken and her teeth were partly gone while the rest were rotting in her head, she was the epitome of a common wrench. "Girl, 'ave ye got any nourriture on yer person?" the old woman asked in a voice that was so cracked and ruined that it showed many a day without proper drink. Éponine was not fazed by this desperate display and she quickly pulled her leg back before thrusting it into the woman's side, "Nah, get away ye old crazy bloody bat!" The woman shrunk back and crawled on, into the corner where she had come from and once again, submitted her sole to the shadows. Éponine lay her back against the rough iron gate and pulled her legs to her chest and then she thought. Why did it have to be today? She had been ever so excited to see Henri and now all the efforts in which she had spent time were wasted. Her hair had come tumbling down, out of the chiffon and her cap was no longer sitting atop her head, she felt useless. Letting her eyes drift close and her mouth grow taunt she tried to relax.

It took almost a day for Javert to summon her. She was taken by two men, dragged along the floor and treated as if she was no more than an animal prow to slaughter. Her feet were scraped against the floor so roughly that one of her old leather boots came loose and fell off her scarred foot onto the stone pavings. Her wrists were bruised by the grip which seemed to be as hard as bone and all she could do was let out a small whimper. She tried, pathetically, to raise to her feet and walk with a little more dignity but was only rewarded with a tough yanking on her arms or a boot to her belly. Èponine was not scared but worried. Her mind was swimming through all the many possibilities that lay ahead of her. 'Surely they won't hang me?' She thought followed by, 'Will they let me go?' Which was then answered by, 'Of course not, you stupid girl. Why would they arrest you just to let you go?'

By the time she had arrived outside the inspectors office, Èponine was shaking, her whole body trembling and shivering with the anticipation of what could possibly happen to her. She was so near fainting that even the sight of a familiar face would send her tumbling to the floor, so when inspector Javert opened the door it was the final frontier. Èponine slipped slowly to the floor, straight through the two men's hands and landed with a thud against the stone. Crumpled, battered and broken, Èponine slept shrouded in darkness and the uncertainty of what was to come.

Javert was instantly enraged at this slip of a girl who so easily defied him. How dare she stand up to him and get away with it? Javert would be sure that she would never see the morning sky again but first he would need information. In this dog eat dog world, one thing that always remains the same is power. In Javert's case information meant power and now, with the girl in his grasp, he was one step closer to the power that he so craved. One of the things that Javert hungered for was the control and power, the respect and fear of all those who were above and beneath him. However there was always a catch, some small detail, no matter how minuscule, ever persistent. In the situation at present, the catch had appeared to be Henri Dubois. Anytime Javert had spied the girl, she was always in the company of Monsieur Dubois. It was infuriating yet relieving, to believe that this man could be held as leverage against her and vice versa. One thing Javert prided himself to be against all others, was thorough and he was determined to leave no places unsearched, no matter how dark or perilous they seemed to be. The law would be welcomed in all dark corners of Paris, it wasn't important how it got there but Javert was adamant that he would be the great being who would fight the night with light.

He turned his sneer towards the two gendarme, who stood by the door as if they had never gazed upon it's wood before and barked, "I shall not care what state that thief is in, she shall be sat on the block wether she is dead or joyful. Now perform your duty and close the damn door!" It made Javert smirk as he saw the two terrified men busy themselves with heaving the girl onto the block, where she proceeded to slump forwards and hit the floor only to then be tied in place. Javert watched as her dark hair tumbled like water, spilling and sliding every way as the men's movements jerked her form place to place. It had been too long since Javert had studied another person without reason and he cherished the way it felt to relieve his mind of all duties, if only for a while looking up, he saw the two men standing to attention by the door.

"Tis about the hour we get started. Now, with hurried dignity, bring a gallon of water." Javert drawled and watched the way the men's backs straitened to become a stiff but formal position. They both turned and walked for the door until Javert added as an afterthought. "And make it chilled, from the Seine." Javert gave himself a moment of sadistic pleasure as he thought about the fright that the thief would surely get, when an entire gallon of deathly cold water was poured over her. Inspector Javert favoured the chase, he loved it when they played tough. He adored the way in which it made him feel, to know that it had been him to brake them down and make them confess. Even when the prey gives chase, the wolf shall be on it's heals, chasing, fighting and ending its life and Éponine was like any other preyed upon. She would be beaten and killed, the law shall always win, Even Then.

* * *

**Even then, when happiness prevails and friendship blossoms, the shadows will come and darkness will fall, Even then.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, sorry if you've already read this chapter but I am just reposting it because I made a mistake and accidently put up the wrong poem so here is the new draft with the RIGHT poem. Sorry again. Also thanks to all my reviewer especially IndigoStarling, Freedom909, The little Shirling and Ladrisx! Really appreciate this chapter there is a little more insight into the other characters and I really wanna know who your favourite characters are or who you think I should write a little more of? Thanks!**

* * *

_Always_

When all time stopped and the world stood still,

When the coo-coo stopped singing upon his leafy sill,

When the noise of laughter was not to be heard,

When children stopped playing; frozen to the world,

When the wind didn't chime,

When the sun didn't shine,

When the moon didn't glow with its faintest of glows,

When the spring never sprung,

When the autumn never fell,

When the lovers have died,

When the dead have loved,

When the heavens are full then we will know,

When the hells have just opened.

* * *

Éponine woke to the acquaintance of 'the block' and instantly chose to dislike it's presence. The block was a large board of wood, with many scratches and tarnishes. In total it was about one metre high, the board was lain across two chairs and tied with an old rope. It's purpose was to strike fear into the heart of the user as well as discomfort and intimidation. It was one of Javert's favourites. Éponine however much she tried, still showed her fear when when slowly opened her eyes to the brightness of the room and saw how she had been tied to the great wooden beast. The second thing that she noticed was how she was completely freezing and soaked through to the bone. Her clothes were drench with water, so that they stuck to her skin, showing every bone and limb. It made her shiver slightly and the sight of Javert and the two gendarme did nothing to sedate that terrible fear.

The inspector was standing in front of her, arms tightly crossed so that his stance took on an almost regal air. His posture reeked of superiority, yet Éponine thought that he looked a little crazed. His eyes like slits, we're as grey as the mighty storm clouds that roll in the heavens. His mouth like organ was pulled so tight, it was as if he was never to speak again. He glared at everything yet seemed to see nothing, except Éponine. At last he spoke to the rhythm of his hands, as they produced a small, leather bound book.

"Tell me your name thief!" he barked in a manner so controlling it would frighten the dead. "Éponine, family name Jondredette." She replied her voice surprisingly low and gentle. He nodded, ready to begin. "I shall ask a few questions of you, thief," Éponine quickly looked to his face, "What sort of questions would they be?" Éponine lived in a world where nobody asked questions apart from: 'How much?' and 'What's in it for me?' And Éponine actually knew that Javert knew that too.

Javert continued. "Can you read and write mademoiselle thief?" Although Javert had called her mademoiselle, Éponine knew it was only to spite her or cause her some form of harm. She fidgeted restlessly for a moment, feeling uncomfortable with the dampness of her clothes.

"Can read, 'beer' or 'gin' or 'ale' maybe even gendarme but none of that fancy stuff. No sense in filling yer head with stuff ye don't need, that's just what I do say." Javert's face seemed to darken further.

"You are clearly an academic mademoiselle thief. Now I would hope you feel obliged to tell me what it was, you were doing with the gang of men? Did they leave you behind to finish off? Where are they now? How did you come to work under them?" his questions flew at her and Éponine, not being all that used to his polite and adequate language, struggled to comprehend him. Throughout the day she would spend the greater amount of her time speaking argot and only a slight amount trying to speak with a properly annunciated parisian. Èponine tightened her eyes shut in concentration, trying to decide if it would be beneficial for her, if she spoke. She opened her mouth slowly at least twice before answering.

"I ain't left to finish ye off, Monsieur inspector. I was told to bring ye to that old house." Èponine decided that a plea for ignorance would be her best way out of the trouble she had thrown herself into. However since Javert did know of what happened when he had fallen unconscious, he was able to find her story highly untrue and he instantly became furious. He grabbed her shoulders with a terrifying grip and thundered, "Don't lie to me!" Èponine was so afraid that she flinched backwards and tried to hide her face. She could not decide which would be the lesser of two evils, telling Javert the whole truth and enduring the punishment of the Patron Minette or withholding all information and face her suffering by Javert's hand. It was not the choice that a young girl of seventeen should find herself making. So Èponine decide to betray her old father and decided that punishment later would be better than quite possible torturing now.

"I was made to work for a street gang." Èponine whispered in a low voice. Javert was wickedly dazzled by these words and motioned, with his hands, for her to continue. "They call themselves la Patron Minette. They are a real horrible lot. I had to lead ye there then finish the job off." Èponine paused for a while in thought, before deciding to make herself seem innocent. "They threatened, said they might just kill me if I didn't do it. I didn't want to! I promise I tried to get away! Of course I didn't kill ye, I didn't wanna kill nobody! I swear, I did nothing and know ye gotta let me go!" Èponine begged although Javert seemed not interested or caring, instead he was excited to finally be close to catching the infamous La Patron Minette. He knew of this gang, one of the worst, most treacherous street gangs in all of Paris. It was led by four men who had many working underneath them, one of which, appeared to be the thief before him. Spurred on by his hunger for more information, he lead her forwards and grabbed Èponine by the shoulders, shaking her. "Where are they? Where are there hideouts? What do you know of theme? Speak now, in the presence of the law!"

Èponine was completely terrified, she could feel her bones quacking with the dampness of her clothiers and the threat of Javert. Would she be so quick to betray the Patron Minette? Èponine finally understood that her knowledge was worth something in the eyes of Javert and could save her if she used it properly. So she decided to try and pluck courage from the air as if it floated down in bucket loads. She raised her shoulders slightly, fought down the urge to cry and stuck out her chin. "I ain't as stupid as ye may think, inspector. I know things so I do. I will only tell ye what ye wanna know if ye and yer men let me go!" She finished with a heart full of hope and the prospect of leaving the jail. Both of these emotions were quickly crushed when Javert replied, in an ominous voice. "I do not allow thieves to walk my streets." Èponine's reply sped from her mouth without much of a thought. She said it in the way that marked her as a true Jondredette. "Well then Monsieur, it looks to me like ye won't be catching the men that almost beat ye to death!"

Javert was outraged that she would dare to speck back to the law like that, he was quick to slap her across the face with the back of his hand. Relishing in the knowledge that his ring had torn into her cheek and left a line of blood. Javert wanted the information, craved the information and Èponine wanted out, craved getting out. He spat at her face then turned around and began pacing backwards and forwards across the space in front of Èponine as if he were trying to wear a hole through the floor. They were both at a stalemate. Javert let out a loud bellow, he hated the thought of letting this frail thief get the Brett of him. "Fine!" He shouted, then motioning to the two gendarme who were standing by the frame of the door. "Cut her loose!" Èponine smiled with satisfaction then stood, grabbing the inspectors shirt, she quickly pulled them both out the door. Èponine had decided it would be safer if she spoke to Javert outside. This would mean that she could make an easy escape once she had divulged him in her deepest secrets.

He held his notebook out and she spoke. Words flew from her mouth as a dove would fly from a tree, she let all of her hatred for her father and mother pour into the disjointed sentences she put together. She told Javert everything. Every place the Patron Minette had ever been, any conversation they had ever had, any horrible crime they had ever committed and any other personal piece of information that came to mind. Javert was extremely pleased with himself, What a catch! Èponine was exactly what he had wanted to find for years, a source of information and he was adamant that she would not get away. As Èponine began to finish her speech, Javert signalled to the gendarme to come closer. However a countless amount of time on the streets meant that Èponine was defiantly ready for lies and frauds. "I don't think that was yer best idea inspector," she implored him as she spun quickly and slipped away across the square. Although she could hear the shouts and calls of Javert and the many other gendarme she didn't stop or look back once. Èponine would be free, she longed to see Henri once again and could already imagine how perfect there meeting would be. "I will find you! You can run but you will never evade the law!" Javert's voice could be heard booming actions the square and Èponine shook a little at the sound of it but did not slow her pace. She was running, yet again. All poor Èponine's life was spent running, whenever a problem arose her, or her family with her, would always hide instead of fight. Èponine knew this well, yet could never bring herself to care. She knew that one way to help you move forwards, in a hard life, was to never look back. If she so much as glimpsed over her shoulder or tried to remember all the tragedies that had befallen her over the years, she would probably never be able to think again. Èponine was strong willed and determined yet she was not, and would most likely never be, strong enough to look back through the hideous life she had lead.

When Èponine arrived at the Gorbeau tenement she slowly opened the door. Her mother sat by the stove, stirring a black pot of rancid broth and Èponine's mouth started to water at the prospect of food, which in the last few days had seemed to be a foreign thought. "Ma, I was locked in prison." Èponine stated as she perched on the edge of the rotting wooden table. Her mother didn't even turn to face her, she only gave a grunt in reply. "Did ye miss me Ma?" Èponine asked, wanting any form of conversation and at last her mother did reply. "Course not you thick girl! I had some dandy knocking on me door about three times asking if ye were home! Bloody fool!" Èponine's heart soared and immediately she was full of unanswered questions which seemed to come bubbling to the surface as if a mighty dam had just been opened. "Oh! Ma who was he? Was it me Henri? Did he have the nicest black locks ye have ever seen? Was he ever so handsome?" Èponine seemed lost within her own fantasy, beautifully and blissfully ignorant of the land around her. Her mother, being a true romantic at heart felt a certain love for her daughter in that moment. For Madame Thènardier remembered when she too was just a child and would often pick up a fancy for many a young lad. She smiled fondly at Èponine before confirming, "Oui, the boy did have nice black curls and quite a handsome face too! He left his name for sure but I cannot remember. He seemed awful worried though! How long have ye been courting him? He seems quite posh!" Èponine nearly squealed with excitement, so happy that hr mother was finally warming slightly to her. She was also terribly thrilled that Henri had been worried for her safety, it showed that he really did care! Èponine threw her arms in the air and exclaimed, "Oh, Ma I really love him. He is good and kind and caring but we aren't courting at all! I don't know if he does love me or not. What do ye think, does he love me?"

Madame Thènardier sighed and pulled her daughter closer taking her by the hands so they stood face to face. "Listen 'Ponine, he does think of ye. If he didn't then why would he come knocking on me door so many times?" Èponine nodded slightly and looked into her mothers eyes that were hard and wise with age, she was slightly put off by her mothers sudden kindness, not used to being spoken to in such a sweet and gentle way. "I don't know where he lives Ma! I shall maybe never see him again! Oh, how that would slight me, as ye might understand." Madame Thénardier gave a heave of her shoulders and ran a large and calloused hand through her greyish hair. "Good Lord Girl! Have ye got no brains at all? Listen, I know he will come back, all ye gotta do is be patient. Good things come to those who wait," and with that, Madame Thénardier turned back to her gruesome supper and began, once again stirring the pot. Éponine smiled slightly, excited at the prospect of Henri's arrival, she was brought back to the attention of her mother when Madame Thénardier's brash voice could be heard. "And for God's Sake! Put on some dry clothes!"

The days staggered passed, slower than death itself. Each day Éponine would early rise and dress, combing her hair and washing her cheeks. One day she had even gone as far as pinching some of her mothers rouge! Éponine was awaiting Henri's arrival, she hadn't left the house for four days now, scared that if she were to go out, she would miss his visit. Éponine had also irritated her mother to no end, she had been constantly asking questions and retelling stories of Henri. Although her mother acted with indifference, not really caring what her daughter spent her time thinking about. Her father was different, he loathed and mocked Éponine for her fixation, commenting and sneering at her when ever he got the chance to. His daughters heart was only a mere amusement to him and he would not bat an eye if it were crushed, forever. Monsieur Thénardier was not a kind mad and thought little of love or friendship preferring to spend his inner thoughts, hopes and dreams lamenting about money, wealth and power. He was cold and cruel but yet, he did not wish any harm on his oldest child, he simply did not care. As a younger man he had also never cared much for delusions of love, he had simply known that he needed a wife who would give him sons and daughters. In his older years he was much the same, still hungering for an escape from poverty And a plate of riches. However one thing that Monsieur Thénardier was adamant about was that he would not die a poor man. When he was to turn seventy, where it's cold and your old and no one cares if you live or you die your one consolations the money you may have put by.

She sat, with her bare toes curled under her crossed legs and her cheeks pressed flush against the windows, looking. It was almost all she did nowadays, look. Éponine was sure that if she looked hard enough, peered through the mist and the fog and the tendrils of snow which still blew about the streets, then she would see him. He would be hurrying along with his head low and his coat turned up at the neck, his hair dark and magical would be blown to and fro in the chilling wind which as he walked towards Éponine. She had spent the four days since she had been released from the prison in the same fashion, watching. Éponine had begun to doubt Henri's affection, her mind had bittered slightly, thinking he would never come. She had started to curse herself and her poverty, thinking that the reasons that Henri Dubois had not yet come, was her lack of wealth or her appearance. Éponine though he would not care for her because she was too thin or because she was too stupid, maybe Henri preferred rich, beautiful and educated women. Not a poor and wretched creature like herself.

The reason Henri had, in actual fact, not returned was because his employer, a Monsieur Durand, had increased the hours of labour and had not allowed the men to leave until dusk, which Henri knew was an inappropriate hour to be paying visits to young mademoiselle's homes. Although the work of building the old cathedral on Saint Louis square was strenuous and tiring and left Heri with aching limbs and tired eyes, he still thought often about the poor, miserable girl wo lived in the Gorbeau Tenement. He had failed his promise, his promise to never leave Éponine, not like those who had already abandoned her, his promise to stay with her, help her, protect her. He had broken that and he was sorry. Every night as Henri would slip back into his home after the terrible days work, he would gaze upon his sisters sleeping form and be thankful, he would pray to his god and close his eyes. Hoping that he and his father and his sister would stay healthy and strong, and then, he would add on a whisper. He would quietly also ask for the safety of Éponine. He would wish that wherever she was, in the world with many hates, that she would live the night and see the morning. He remembered as if they had been spoken yesterday, the words of his mother, "Change one life, just one life, for the better and you will have done, what many great men have failed to do." This is what Henri had been hiding from, until they day he had encountered Éponine and then, his chance was born, he would see to it, as his mothers dying will, that one girls life would be improved. Improved by the love of friendship and the security of happiness. That Henri could do.

With an, "Au revior," and a kiss to the cheek, he slowly slipped out of the old home onto the street. Once outside, Henri walked briskly, cutting a path through the cold night air. It was turning into the evening time now and slowly the streets folk, who would only inhabit the land at day, receded to their homes and made way for the creatures of the night. Around him, the beings of the underworld made their paths through the sadness and the misdoings of others. They bore no marks of misery, instead they walked like the dead with hollow eyes and hollow hearts, unseeing and uncaring. He moved on, battling through the mists of poverty towards Èponine's door. He needed to reach her, just to gaze on her, just to see the flush in her cheeks and the life in her body. He needed to know that his promise had not been broken. He needed to tell her how sorry he was, how he will never forsake her again. He hoped he was not too late, for that would mean he no longer owned the trust of his dead mother. When he reached the pale crumbling wall that signified the Gorbeau Tenement a light fall of rain appeared. A rain that was so frail it seemed to be carrying a spirit to heaven. For the rain was full of ghosts that night, that tap and sigh against the glass and listen for reply.

Henri pushed his way up the dark stairs, encountering as he did, a shorter boy with hair the colour of the mud and freckles littered across pale cheeks. The boy tipped his hat and moved aside allowing Henri passage.

When Henri had reached the door, he found it ajar, opened only slightly so that he could see a small fragment of the dirtied room. In this small piece, Henri could see Éponine, curled on the ledge of the window. She looked saddened and at this Henri felt guilty, he wondered if they had hurt her in the prison. He felt like it was his fault that she had been taken to that dreadful place. He breathed in a sigh and gently, so gently he pushed open the door. Even when fate mixes its path with desperation and life, there will always be someone there to guide you home and show you which way to turn. Even Then.

* * *

**Even then, when hope dies and injustice reins, the truth will come and prayers will be answered, Even then. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Well here is another week andanother chapter bang on schedule. I feel happy with the way that the story is progressing and wouldlove your thoughtsand opinions too, so why not leave a review? Thanks again for all those avid readers out there and happy April fools! **

**I also just wanted to say that this chapter ishalf of another chapter so this is essentially part one! I did this because I think it flows better and this would be too long to have as one chapter. **

* * *

LOVE AND FEAR

Dancing through the air,

As if it were not there

Creeping through the ground,

Silent and soft without Sound

Sleeping in their dreams,

Curled with hope it seems

Sharp in ice and fire,

Death with no hope of desire

Beauty and loyalty true,

With thoughts just of you.

* * *

The door creaked, giving away his presence and the rooms occupants all turn to face him. Èponine shrieks with excitement and slips up out of her place and trails across the door to meet him. A voice interrupts the reunion. "Who the hell are ye and what do ye want?" It was Èponine's father and he was grim at the prospect of having a stranger into his lair. Henri turned and without the hint of embarrassment which was present on pink cheeks, he spoke. "Hello Monsieur, I am sorry to intrude on your evening. My name is Henri Dubois. I am here to ask for your permission, to speak with your daughter. May I?"

Monsieur Thènardier was Confused at the propriety with which Henri spoke. He was then further confused as to why Henri would want to speak to his daughter and assuming the worst was prepared to say no. Éponine had already known what her fathers answer would be, so she lifted her skirts and quickly led Henri out of the door. When Éponine turned to face him once they were outside in the hallway, her lips were turned up into a small smile which framed her face and enhanced the quality of her eyes. "Henri!" She spoke with enthusiasm and excitement, "I have been waiting for ye for days! Where on earth have ye been? I had to run from jail so I did but I am now better, since yer here." Henri boughed his head in shame before spotting the welt on her face that the inspector had caused. He was immediately filled with rage, hatred coursed through his veins and fire ran across his thoughts.

"Who did this to you?" Henri Demanded.

"Nobody, it's nothing!"

"Tell me now! I shall kill the person who lays a hand upon you!"

Éponine hid her cheek slightly, "It was in the jail."

"Who was it Éponine? Who did this to you?"

"The inspector, it was La inspecter Javert." she whispered.

"How dare he touch you! I shall show him!"

Éponine shook with fear at the thought of Henri being anywhere near Javert. "No ye mustn't! Please!" Éponine was beautifully awed that he cared enough for her to try and defend her but she was also horrified that Henri would think about challenging Javert. "Éponine, are you blind? Can't thou see what he has done to you? He is not a man he is a monster!" Henri was appalled that she would think of herself so lowly that she would let him get away with this. Henri also wrongly believed that Éponine had been innocent to all crimes and was falsely accused, that was intact not the case. "I know what he is Henri and I care but ye don't understand! There is nothing to be done. Just be happy I ain't dead!" Éponine rasped in her usual throaty cackle. She let her eyes drop to where Henri's hands lay clenched into fists by his sides, she slowly clasped his hand and eased it out from a fist. Silently. She moved his fingers into place so that she was holding his hand sweetly and with her thumb, she drew a path across the back of his hand. Still silent, she moved her thumb to and fro trying to ease the tension that was still present in his hand, wanting to soothe him. He gave her a genuine smile and was able to choke out, "Mon dieu! I am so appeased that you are still well,oh Éponine!" Feeling sadly sentimental, Henri Henri pulled her into a tight and satisfying hug that pleased both himself and Éponine.

"Promise to try an' save me next time?" Éponine quipped up gazing intently into Henri's eyes and she saw them soften into hazel orbs. "Éponine, I promise and tomorrow I will come and collect you. Make sure you are here at noon. We will have luncheon together and I would love it if you could meet my sœur?" Éponine was instantly delighted by Henri's intentions and agreed profoundly. "Oh Henri! Oui! Of course, I will love to meet yer sœur!" She would not allow the guilt or heaviness of her own sœur's death to fall upon her shoulders in this time of enraptured and fulfilment. Henri smiled and gently left a kiss on Éponine's calloused hand which he had still been holding, "Well then mademoiselle, I bid you adieu." With a bow of his back, Henri stooped low and departed back down the stairs in the same way he had came from which left Éponine alone in the hallway outside her garret.

Éponine's heart soared and she clutched her hand to her chest, just where her heart laid fluttering with the memories of Henri. He had kissed her! He had set his lips against her hand and said good bye! Éponine thought that it was a definite sign of love and she could not wait for what tomorrow would bring. She let her feet twirl across the floor of the hall as her mind flew through the possibilities that her life could now lead, would her affections end in marriage? She hoped so, she believed so and she wanted so with all of her mind, body and sole.

During her musings she was unaware of another persons presence until that person uttered her name. "Eponine!" She turned and her eyes opened further in the revelation that the man who stood before her was her handsome neighbour Monsieur Marius. The very same Monsieur Marius whom she had once harboured very strong feelings for.

"Monsieur Marius! I have not seen yer person in months! Where have you been?" Monsieur Marius smiled back and held the back of his neck as he searched for an apology, "I have been at school most of all and it's very cold! I do not leave my room much." Éponine could not help but be enthralled by the way he smiled with teeth far purer than Henri's would ever be and the way his eyes held so much life and were never as dark and serious as Henri's always seemed to be. Marius smiled slightly at her before brushing away the thick clumps of brown which littered his forehead. "Èponine, I know that I have not seen you much but I wondered if you could do something for me? It is very important." Èponine eyes him cautiously, a queer look had overtaken her features as she pondered what his task for her was.

"Yes." She replied failing to hide her curiosity, Monsieur Marius gave a small sigh and began to check through his coat poker for the precious letter he had taken so long writing. Inside the envelope, it was certain how much love and affection was spent, hours pouring over the paper and filling it with tender words. His hands found the sheet, at last and he withdrew it from the cotton pocket with a fond smile. "Please 'ponine, take this to the Rue Plummet number five. Give it to the girl with the golden curls and the dainty hands, tell her it comes with the love of Marius. So this for me, please?" Éponine's heart broke a little further, cracking and twisting and bending and snapping. He dared to ask her a thing like this, which would cause her so much pain, reminding her of what she could never have. Somewhere in the cold damp air of the hall was a smell of sadness and loyalty and of course, somewhere in the cold damp air, was the sharp tang of fear. Éponine's eyes widened and her mouth grew tight, she turned her shoulder and reached for the letter, not watching the motions of her hand. She grappled madly at the air until her thin hand came into contact with the letter, she clutched it tight and quickly slipped it into her pocket which resided in her skirts. "Yes Monsieur Marius, I will do it for ye. Now I gotta go! Au revoir." Éponine made her way across the hall, risking only a quick glance behind her to see Monsieur Marius's retreating figure. Èponine waited for the small 'click' of Monsieur Marius's door and then let herself crumple against the floor. She slid down the wall, he frail legs giving out when her back met the skirting board. The floor was cold and hard and bleak and the darkest fears came creeping into Èponine's mind. Why, when goodness finally comes, does darkness prevail? Life was a combination of lies and obscenities and Èponine was tired. She was worn down physically and mentally with thoughts of past, present and future which were all filled with pockets of darkness.

Èponine was in a purgatory of torment. She was at war with herself, not understanding why she could not just choose which man that she was truly in love with. It was empowering all thoughts and was causing her inner turmoil, it was ripping Èponine apart by the seams. When Èponine finally chose to lift herself from the flooring, she was almost shaking with the cold, her thin chemise not being an adequate barrier against the chills which rattled down the corridor.

Èponine quietly slipped through the door, back into her small garret. Her father instantly sprung upon her filled with questions.

"Who the hell was he?" Thènardier growled.

"He is me friend." Replied Èponine filled with weariness.

"Ah, a friend! What a helpful thing in these hard times! Now tell me dear, what did he say to ye?"

"He told me to meet him. Tomorrow at noon and I wanna go!" Èponine pressed her luck oblivious to her fathers mirth.

"Ye wanna go, do ye? Well that can be arranged me girl! Now tell me, is he rich?"

"No papa! Leave him alone, he has a family to support. He is a good man!" Èponine tried desperately to undo what she had said.

"A good man! No such thing, all yer gonna find in the slums are thieves!" Thènardier considered the possibilities and finally exclaimed in a high laugh, "Right, that's what yer gonna do! Yer gonna get close to him, real close! 'Cause he will be important, I can feel it."

Èponine shivered slightly and lent down, relieving her sore feet of their boots. She peeled back the sheet from her straw mat and lay down, quivering in the coldness of her lonely soul. "Yes papa." She whispered into the darkness of the quiet room, too quiet to be heard. The chill had seeped through the thin sheet and she felt as if she were lying amid the snow. Èponine turned and pulled her knees to her chest, sliding a piece of the sheet between her teeth so that she would not cry out in pain. Èponine clenched her eyes shut and imagined Henri beside her, his arms keeping her safe and warm. She was so cold. He would pull her to his chest and soothe her with calming words and simple caresses. In this manner of ignorant fantasy Èponine managed to fall into the illusion of sleep and rest. She breathed in and out in short broken gasps, silently trying to survive the cold.

The afternoon had come to slowly and Èponine had waited, with a childish anticipation of the day that lay ahead. She had, once again tried to look the best that she could. Tying her hair up into a chiffon and deciding to wear one of her mothers cleaner looking skirts and Azelma's old chemise which had been whiter looking than her own. As she tucked the hem of her chemise into her skirt she paused for a moment remembering her sœur and the way she had once lived. Azelma had been far more delicate than Èponine, she was a child not suited to the work in which she lived. Like a petal blooming in the darkness. It was for the better that she no longer suffered, she was free from the pain which Èponine still felt.

When Henri had arrived at Èponine's poor garret he gave a loud knock and straitened his neck tie. As he waited for Èponine to answer he gazed down at the single flower that was held tightly in his hand. He had paid for it as he walked, thinking that Èponine would be pleased with the small bud. Henri was as composed as always when Èponine threw open the door, letting it rattle backwards and forwards on its hinges and greeted him with a nervous grin. He smiled back at her and stopped low as if he were meeting the queen of France, it made Èponine feel admired as a scarlet tint littered her cheeks. She was then presented the little yellow flower and offered Henri's arm.

"Oh Henri! It's beautiful, what a pretty little flower! How delicate the petals, how bright the colour! Thank ye, really I love it." Henri smiled, pleased that she had appreciated his gift to her.

"I am glad, have you eaten yet?" He asked the simple question which caused Èponine to become confused.

"Eaten?" She replied not understanding, "It ain't evening yet, why would I eat?" This caused Henri's heart to break a little, the thought that Èponine would not understand what breakfast was because she ate just once a day was horrific. Henri cleared his throat and guided her out onto the streets before stopping. "Dear Èponine, we shall have breakfast now. We will have a great feast and then we shall go to visit my Sœur. She will like you very much Èponine."

"Oh I hope she likes me, I promise to be nice to her Henri and I can't wait to eat some 'breakfast' today shall be great."

They walked along the bridge which separated the slums from the gardens, markets and houses that the bourgeois inhabited. Èponine rarely showed her face in these places, hating the way people treated her and also fearing that the law would catch her. But now, with Henri on her arm, Èponine felt like she was spinning through the stars or shooting through the skies. She walked with her head high in the sun. Such was the difference of her attitude that many prowlers would not be able to identify her as the girl who once kept to the shadows and stayed unnoticed.

Èponine was smiling, her laughter could be heard from all places, she clasped her flower in one hand and held Henri's arm with the other, talking away about no such thing in particular. When they reached a small street vendor who Henri swore was the best pie maker in all of France, Henri bought a pie for Èponine and a pie for himself. Then, moving slightly along the rows of stalls in the market, Henri bought two poached eggs and a small dish of glacé.

Èponine was near drooling, the sight and smell of the meal was making her feel feint. She had not found the time to eat properly in days and was now half starved. "They smell great! I could eat them all! Right now, so I could!" Éponine boasted happily as they took their seats on a bench by the river. "I wouldn't eat too quick if I were you, they are very filling, I would start with the pies if I were you." Éponine decide to agree with Henri's advice and slowly made her way threw the great feast, starting with the pies. She chattered away about the weather and the people who passed but not of anything important which goaded Henri to interrupt her.

"Éponine, tell me something." He asked.

"What do ye mean, 'tell ye something'?"

"Tell me something that you have never told anyone before, something real."

Éponine looked astonished but hid it easily by tuning her face to the side and letting her long hair blow across it, hiding her expression. She didn't know what to tell him but was desperate to prove her trust. She decide to divulge. "All I want is to be loved, that is all, really." Èponine bowed her head with embarrassment wondering what Henri might say back to her. Henri surprised her by laying his hand against her cheek and turning her face upwards so that she met his gaze. "That is all anyone would ever want Èponine. That is all I want too." Èponine's eyes opened slightly in awe, surprised that a single man could hold such goodness inside of him. "Well maybe then we shall all be rewarded someday?" She asked quietly peering shyly at Henri through the wisps of hair which blew across her visage. He surprised ever once more by frowning and shaking his head. "Not all people find love, some die looking for it." Henri replied annoyed by her childish thoughts, sometimes it seemed that Èponine behaved with a knowledge and wisdom beyond her years while at other times she could be foolish and silly. However, when Henri glanced back to see Èponine's expression he was saddened by what he saw. She was barley holding back the years that threatened to spill through her indifferent facade. This made his conscious turn guilty and he swallowed down his doubts and grabbed her hand. Her lips were ahead of her mind once again and she speaks thoughts that have only just begun to creep up upon her. "Are you going to stay?" She 's eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Of course I shall stay, Èponine." However clear this may seem to an onlooker, Èponine was still not satisfied,"I mean really stay. Really. Never leave me stay. Stay no matter what. Stay like that." She gasps a little when she has said the words, contemplating where she suddenly got such bold audacity from. She needs to hear the answer, needs to hear the sound of his voice forming the perfect words. She knows that if he can't promise her this, she can't let him make her feel this strange and beautiful happiness anymore. It would hurt her far too terribly to spend the day with him again if he was only to leave her by the new year. Èponine is not sure if she could handle his abandonment. "Really stay. Never leave you stay. Stay no matter what." He promises, and she nearly laughs with the confirmation of security. "I suppose your staying with me then!" She teases feeling free and very much alive. Henri just smiles, sadly. He wishes that life was not so hard and Èponine was not so desperate for companionship but he also is glad to have finally assured her of his indefinite company. He gently pulls her up from the bench and slides his arm across her shoulder, ignoring how thin and lithe her frail form is. "What do you say about meeting with my sœur now? She has been waiting all day to see and will have gone mad by now, it's almost two!" Èponine gave a merry grin, joyful at the prospect of having Henri's arm about her, then suddenly became doubtful. "Of course! I will be terribly nervous 'bout seeing her tho! What if yer wrong and she doesn't like me at all?" Henri shook his head, amused at Èponine's indifference and calmed her thoughts. "Of course she won't like you Èponine, she shall love you. Estelle had always wanted a sœur, she thought a brother just wasn't good enough, the silly girl!"

So they set off down the pavings and streets that would in fact lead them to Henri's small inhabitance. As they walked they chattered amorously about no such thing in particular but also about everything at the same time. While they talked Èponine smiled, not a bright or leering grin, just a small, honest and completely natural smile which had taken over her features. Sometimes when life is cold or hard we may forget to focus on the small and passing joys that fill the day. Even when hardships strive to diminish even the brightest of flames, all that is needed for hope to soar is for good men to triumph. And so, in this way it was made possible to feel the sun once again even after the rain of winter had fallen. Even then.

* * *

Even then, when paths become clear and daemons become scarce, the uncertainty will become present and choice will become hard, Even then.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello! Quick update! Sorry for how late it is but I wanted to submit it sooner rather than later. The next chapter might be a little short so I apologise in advance. Please keep up with the reviews an tell me what you think ofthrow the plot is moving on, too fast, too slow? Thanks!**

* * *

AND ALTHOUGH SOMETIMES EVEN WHEN THIS PAST BECKONS LIFE CALLS

The past binds some, and

The future will call others, although

The dread may consume, sometimes

The hope will shine through, even

The shadows will retreat, when

The truth is apparent, this

The darkest night, past

The gloom of day, beckons

The true light of love, life

The only chance, calls.

* * *

When Èponine and Henri had arrived at their destination it had begun to snow slightly once again, the little white feathered fragments falling all around. Henri had knocked lightly on the door and called for his sœur, while Èponine had stood slightly behind him almost as if she was cowering. She was awaiting the presence of his sœur and was rather anxious. When the little fille with long tresses of hazel and ash came and opened the door she smiled and twisted her hands into her skirts. Looking between her brother and Èponine, she gave a small curtesy like her mother had taught her to in the presence of guests.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle Èponine! I have been waiting for you to come for weeks!" She admitted with a coy smile as if she was exposing a dark secret of her brothers.

Henri had the audacity to not even blush, he just shook his head slightly allowing his dark locks to fall in front of his eyes. "I will admit that you are mostly the talk of our evenings Èponine." This knowledge caused the frail girl in question to become crimson.

"Come on inside, I am sure that Estelle would love to show you her doll." Henri invited and gestured towards the door. Èponine entered and was instantly thrilled, she loved the odd little cottage which seemed to be hidden away inside the very heart of the city. The floors were tiled with an old copper coloured marble that gave warmth to the place and adding to that warmth was the creamy walls, candles that seemed to cover every surface gleamed with joy. Èponine felt like this place was truly her home and she knew that during that night, as she lay in bed, it would be this home she would dream of living in.

The hallway was divided by four doors, each one contains its own small treasury. There was a little kitchen with a proper cooking stove and herbs strung up on woven lines. It had a small wooden table contains four chairs that were all neatly polished. As Èponine was shown around this room she could only imagine how much pride the wife of this home had taken when tidying it. She was soon escorted back through the same door and out into the hall again, only to turn to her right and find herself in the drawing room. This was the largest room in the home and was accompanied by a steady oak fireplace, where logs were stacked ready for use. There were two plush satin chairs which were obvious to have been once a great and beautiful sight but were now slightly more battered, with plucks and stains but still lovely none the less. Èponine let her hand run across the wood of a bookshelf which was littered with certain precious belongings. It was filled with trinkets and books of all descriptions and Èponine was breath taken by how pretty a small item could be. Then she stopped with a small sigh as she beheld the sight of a lady's portrait which hung over the fire place. It had been sketched with great care and the woman's smile seemed to radiate a certain happiness.

"Who is she?" Asked Èponine, stunned by the figure.

"It's mama! Isn't she very pretty? When I grow older I shall look just like she does, that's what Henri says." Èponine turned and saw Estelle was rocking back and forth on her heels gazing at the portrait in wonder, Henri appeared to have slipped out the door. Èponine inhaled before answering, feeling a deep sadness for the girl who had loat her mama. "Yes Estelle I think she looks lovely. Why! I wish she were me own mama!" This seemed to make Estelle smile which pleased Èponine thoroughly. "Come 'ponine! I shall show you my room and my very special doll." Èponine smiled lightly and allowed the young girl to lead her, by the hand, into her room.

Èponine was instantly envious. The beds, while not fit for a king, were delightful enough to entice even the most insomniac of people into their warm and soft cotton sheets. The blankets, both hand woven with care, were patterned to look like birds and small animals of every kind. "Oh! How delightful!" Spoke Èponine as she traced the outline of a small kitten which had been expertly sewn. There were two beds, one obviously Henri's and the other Estelle's. Around Estelle's bed the flooring was littered with child's things. There were little painted wooden soldiers which had probably once been Henri's, there was also small jacks and playing cards lying in disarrayed piles. The childlike pretensions made Éponine feel calmer somehow, as if this was her life, without the hardships of the real world. Estelle was rummaging through a trunk at the end of her bed which happened to contain the rest of her belongings, mostly consisting of clothes. She produced a small painted box and held it up for Éponine to see.

"What's that ye got there?" asked Éponine softly.

"It's my dominos game! Mama made it for me and Henri but he will never play it with me. Not anymore." Estelle seemed to become saddened.

"Why wouldn't he play the game? It looks very good!" Éponine asked partly out of manners but also because of her own curiosity.

"Henri gets sad, he doesn't like to talk about mama, that's why he let the room; because you asked about mama's painting."

Éponine's lip curled slightly in wonder and she slowly walked over to the young girl and slid her arm about Estelle's shoulder, an act of warmth she wouldn't normally have committed. "Shall we play the game now?" She asked, "I would love to play! But ye must tell me how. I ain't very smart."

Estelle's pale face instantly brightened and she exclaimed, "Oh, of course we shall play! Don't worry I'll tell you all the rules but you mustn't tell Henri, he would only get cross."

Éponine nodded back and the deal was struck. After about an hour Éponine was finding herself enthralled in the silly little game. She like the simplicity of it and it made her feel educated to be able to count the little dots. It reminded her of her short period of schooling when she was younger and she liked Estelle's present. On some level Éponine supposed she was paying her penance towards her sister for all the times she had failed to save her. This heavy thought, however dull and dark did not warrant to diminish the pleasure taken in her time with Estelle, instead it liberated her. So Éponine found herself explaining to the young girl across from her, the truth behind the fate of her sister Azelma.

"I once had a sister and three brothers, I did, I remember." Éponine whispered into the silence which had wrapped around the two in a shroud of concentration.

"You did? I have always wanted a sister and maybe some more brothers too! Oh, how lucky you are Éponine!" Estelle beamed in a childlike innocence, failing to see the true misery behind Éponine's eyes.

"Their all gone now tho'." Said Éponine with her eyes to the floor as she seeped her foot back and forth on the copper floor, "I wish I could have made it better tho' I wasn't that nice to them. I feel so sorry tho' but it doesn't really matter anymore. They are probably all hating me because I didn't look after them, I should 'ave tho' but I didn't."

Estelle's eyes grew yearly and Éponine was instantly sorry that she had upset the girl. Estelle was upset by Éponine's words, although not in the way you would think. "I think your good Éponine, not bad just lonely. Sometimes lonely people feel bad but they aren't. They are just lonely, that's all." Estelle used her small hand to comfort Éponine by placing It on her cheek and smiling slightly into the gaze of her eyes. "You don't have to be really alone anymore Éponine. Henri and I, we will look after you." this caused Éponine to shed tears of happiness at the prospect of a new kind of life, one that incorporated love and affection. "Like a family?" asked Éponine shyly and Estelle nodded, "Just like a family. I know that Henri can be quiet sometimes but he really does care about you. He just is in between." Estelle whispered with a knowledge that seemed hundreds of years old instead of her real slight age. "In between? What do ye mean?" Asked Éponine feeling small as she sat on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest and Estelle's hand on her cheeks. Estelle shook her head slightly and flicked a strand of her dark hair from her eyes. "He doesn't know where he is. With mama or with me and he has to choose. Life is only life if you live it and Henri has to live a little to have a life. He is just as scared as the rest of us. Sometimes he cries in the night, he thinks I cant hear him but I can and it scares the birds sometimes. They will fly away if he doesn't stop."

With a small shrug Estelle turned her head back towards the game, slipping in her last piece and exclaiming, "There it is! I have won! I am the winner, weren't I clever?"

"Oui, Estelle yer very clever. I wish I were as clever as ye." Éponine replied kindly but she was distracted by what the young girl had said about Henri. She believed that Henri truly did care for Éponine and right now, that was enough. Éponine was finding her heart, using her hands and so was Henri.

It was beginning to darken outside and the ever present moon was hanging in the sky casting its ominous glow that has been seen in just the same way for generations. The rivers frozen and icy surface was glistening in a haunting way and that night there happened to be a certain calm which had swept the streets. Almost as if we're the calm before the storm. The wind was extinguished so that only a frail breeze blew threw Paris which carried hope and prosperity. Henri, Éponine and Estelle were seated in the drawing room, Henri and Éponine sat upon the two great chairs and Estelle lay curled on the floor beside he fire, shrouded in her blanket and playing with her porcelain doll. The doll, as Éponine had been enthusiastically told was called Clara and had been a beauteous gift from her papa. This had then caused Éponine to inquire about their papa, she listened silently waiting and hoping that he was alive and well and would not cause sadness to enter the hearts of the two siblings.

Their papa was indeed well, presently he was away at sea on a long voyage, many months Henri had said beaming with pride. Their papa was a captain in the navy, a respected man who earned good and honourable money which he would send back to their home every month. Although the money would have been enough to support the two of them well, Henri's pride had no room for unemployment and he believed that all able bodied men should work hard to provide for thei family no matter how rich. Éponine admired him for this, gazing at him with admiration. The only problem with Henri working most of the day away was that Estelle would be left in the home alone, wih no company and little to do. She had refused many nannies and maids claiming that no one could ever replace her mama who had looked after her up until last year.

"I could stay with ye during the day?" Eponine asked shyly hoping the answer to be yes, "I wouldn't be yer maid, i'd be yer friend!we could play games all day, or stroll through the market. I could take ye to see the beautiful gardens, I know ye would like them very much!"

Henri didn't even consider, he just nodded with a small smirk on his face, pleased. He had been going to ask Éponine to stay with Estelle but was much happier that she had volunteered herself. "That will be great, won't it Estelle?" Henri asked, turning to see Estelle's thrilled face as she sat crouched by the glowing logs.

"Oui! Éponine thank you so much! We shall play together all day, oh what fun we shall have." Estelle began to hum softly, combing through Clara's hair with her slender fingers. She was the picture of childhood meeting serenity and it caused Éponine to smile at Henri wispering quietly, "She is dear, I do envy ye Henri. With yer lovely home and yer kind sœur."

Henri lent across in his chair, making Éponine's heart soar, he gently held her hand with his, leaning between the two chairs. "Don't you worry, what's the purpose of thinking saddened thoughts when springtime is near? We shall all live Éponine and we shall never go away, you will see us everyday.I think it is time for notre repas."

He stood up still holding Éponine's hand, he eased her up, onto her feet so they stood face to face, chest to chest. Éponine nearly swooned and backed away a little. "Come." He said and lead her forwards into the kitchen with all the pretty hangings and sweetly smelling herbs.

"What shall we have for dinner? It's your choice Éponine, for you are the guest." asked Henri as he displayed the contents of his cupboard to her. Éponine was caught slightly off guard by his proposal, all the food which lay before her seemed mouthwateringly better than her usual meagre meal and she eyed them with a fancy. There was bread and mead and potatoes and enough to make a soup or broth. There was vegetables and even a slice of cheese. The selection seemed wondrous to Éponine and her mouth had instantly become wet with the thought of food. "How could I ever choose? There is too much choice!" She exclaimed eyeing Henri with attempted humour, he too smiled back and suggested, "Why don't we make a broth? Estelle loves to cook and I am not particularly hungry." Éponine nodded, instantly agreeing with his every word and Henri continued, "All right, a light broth it is then! I shall go and fetch Estelle."

The three of them were seated around the table, each mouth filled with the food and each face bright with mirth. "I say, well done to us! We are champion chefs!" Henri goaded. "Oh, Oui! A meal fit for the king no doubt!" The three laughed in delight. "Yer right, we should be sent to work in the royal kitchens." Éponine lent back into the chair slightly, she enjoyed the light and pleasant banter which was thrown back and forth across the table between brother and sister. She tried to imagine her family, the Thènardier's or the Jondredette's as they now went by, behaving like this. Being so loving and warm, she could, with no attest to how hard she tried, dream like that even though she wished she could. "I have to say Èponine, it is as if you have never cooked before, am I right?" Henri asked grinning dubiously with gaiety at his remark, however his face soon lost that shine when he saw how Èponine darkened slightly and became silent. She was terribly embarrassed by the truth behind Henri's words and was afraid that Henri would now think less of her.

"Well, what of it?" Asked Èponine quietly peering out at Henri's wide eyed stare. "Do ye mock me Henri? Why should ye ask a girl such a thing?" She let a small tear fall from her eye and travel in its glistening path down her cheek.

Estelle was stunned also, she complemented her thoughts by staying true to the silence of the room, not yet brave enough to bold it. Henri was different and he challenged the silence by ladling a large mouthful of the broth into his lips in a crude display of showing remorse. "No harm was meant to it Èponine, no one shall judge you here. In this home you will be yourself or whoever you desire to be, no one will judge you. Definitely not me."

Èponine nodded slightly and used her hand to brush the frail tears from her cheek. "Thank ye, I am finished. I fear that's have lost my apatite." Spoke Èponine as she lay the dainty spoon back into her dish and began to stand. "It is late and I should go." She announced with an air of finality however Henri did not bid her leave.

"Oh Èponine! You cannot leave now, the night is yet young! We shall sit together, the three of us, tell heroic tales of bravery round the fire!"

Èponine paused chewing at her lip with her lip and debating the path she should choose. She feared her stay would just bring her more mockery and humiliation but she also bore no wants for arriving home. "All right, I'll stay but not for too long and besides I'll be back tomorrow." She explained and watched as Estelle grinned and began to quickly tidy the dishes.

They had set themselves around the fireplace on the floor, all of them trying to steal as much heat as possible from the flickering flames. "Once upon a time." Began Henri in a voice full of mysteries which seemed to be as old as time. He spoke with a kind of burning passion which fuelled the soul.

"There was a young girl with beautiful chestnut locks and sparkling sapphire eyes. She lived in a small farming village just outside of Lyon, she lived with her father and sisters. Then one day, as she walked through the markets of the village, she encountered a fine young sailor. She said that he was the handsomest man in all of France. His hair was said to be darker than night, even though it is now white with age. They were happy together, loving each other a little more with every day that passed. Eventually they married, and when they did it was said to be the happiest joining in years. Both bride and groom dressed in finery with a band and dancers as well! They lived in Lyon for only a year before they moved to Paris and when they did, their son was shortly born healthy and both parents blossomed in love. They shone as they walked through the streets and though they tried for more children, god would not bless them that miracle for another many years. The boy grew and soon his sister was growing too, but as she grew their maman weakened. No matter how many fine doctors came and went, their mama grew weaker still. She was cold and frail yet she took pride in her children, cherishing them until the day she slowly slipped away, leaving a husband and two children behind. She will always be loved."

Èponine and Estelle gazed, wide eyes at Henri before Estelle broke the silence by asking, "Mama?"

"Oui Estelle." Replied Henri, "That was the story of our Mama. It was sad wasn't it?"

Èponine replied with a burst of astonishment. "Oh, no it was not sad, it was beautiful! She was brave and I admire her."

Henri's brow twitched in surprise. "How can it not be sad?" He asked, "For she has died."

Èponine nodded solemnly agreeing with Henri but then whispered into the smouldering flames. "Oui, she died. Yer right but she has also lived, she had lived more than any of us."

Henri stared at Èponine, amazed by her comforting words which would have usually come from him. He took her hand and squeezed it slightly, looking to see that Estelle's worried expression mirrored Èponine's. "you are right Èponine." He said.

"That was the nicest story that you have ever told me." Added Estelle smiling softly towards Henri and Èponine's interlocked hands.

"Oui, it was a lovely story Henri." Agreed Èponine, her eyes alight with life.

And so, as Henri started to open his heart to both his dear sœur and good companion Èponine, he learned to see the light through the darkness. He learned to trust and he learned to forget. He knew that despite the shadow that hung over his life from his past, his future could still be as bright and happy as the lives of his parents had been. So even when the past binds us and we wonder lost in yesterday, the future is waiting just a little further ahead. Even Then.

* * *

Even then, when the pasts dark memories call and the future becomes distant, the path will become clear and the truth will be known, Even then.


End file.
